Ann Farabee

By Ann Farabee

Poor little fellow. It was a lot to bear for a three-year-old. Fears and tears filled his eyes, as he yelled, “I got a splinter!” Screaming and thrashing about ensued, followed by, “It hurts!” Getting him to let us look at it was the next challenge. Letting us help with removal was going to be an even more difficult task.

We tried reasoning. You don’t want an infection, do you?

We tried to sneak in from behind. The element of surprise did not work.

We tried to force him. That got tricky.

We tried taking a break. Peaceful — but not helpful.

We tried holding him down. Not a success. Perhaps a slight injury. Not to him — to me.

Nothing would work if he would not receive the help. The splinter remained.

A splinter can be a small thing that breaks off from a larger thing and gets stuck. If it does not come out, it can disintegrate, spread, become fully embedded, and infected. It can alter our actions and movements. It can hurt. It can create problems, for it does not need to be there.

Realizing that our personal efforts were not enough, we reached out to a pharmacist who said the words we needed to hear, “There is a balm that helps.”

It was named ichthammol. The black, sticky, tar-looking stuff flowed out like a gift from God onto the splinter — once our little guy was willing to receive it. We covered it with a bandaid, let it seep in, and begin the work it was going to do. Help had come. He became still, relaxed, soothed, and his fears and tears went away. He trusted in what the balm was doing for him. It was just the medicine he needed. Shortly after, the splinter was easily removed.

In God’s Word, balm was highly valuable. It was a specialty item. It was uncommon. It was fragrant. It eased pain. It produced healing. It had soothing powers. It never stopped working.

Some say balm is a metaphor of the healing power of God — pain can be eased and healing produced.

I say that a serious problem needs a serious medicine.

You would buy it if you or a loved one needed healing, wouldn’t you?

Yes, you would go right over to the pharmacy and pick it up.

Well, it is readily available for each of us. No — not ichthammol, but the healing balm God sends that can take a splinter out of our lives — or a boulder out of our heart.

But, just as a three-year-old reached out to accept the balm that would bring his healing, we have to reach our arms out to God to accept the balm that is for our healing.

Need healing? I think we all do.

Let’s pray:

As we stretch our hands to thee, Lord, we accept the balm that you are pouring over us. May it overtake us — body, mind, and spirit. May we believe — and receive — our physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual healing. Thank you for the balm that covers us and sends healing our way. Amen

Let me know how your healing goes.

Let me know how the balm flows.

Contact me at annfarabee@gmail.com

By Ann Farabee

By Ann Farabee

By Ann Farabee

Another trip to the grocery store. I should be awarded a prize as Food Lion’s best customer.

As always, I was dressed appropriately for swift and effective shopping — stretchy pants, comfy shirt, sneakers.

While loading my groceries into the car, I saw her. The perfectly dressed young mom — perfect makeup, perfect hair, and wearing heels.

There she was — the inspiration for my column.

As she stopped to look both ways prior to crossing the street to the parking lot, her four neatly dressed young children, stopped obediently. Two were on one side of her. Two were on the other side. Each was carrying two grocery bags — one in each hand. They looked both ways and then toward mom before crossing. Once reaching the car, they lined up to put their grocery bags in the trunk.

As I was loading my groceries in my car, I said aloud to myself, “She is perfect. How does she do it?”

I shook my head, thinking about my years as a mom of young children, my years as a mom of older children, my years as a mom of grown children. My years of juggling a work schedule and motherhood. As I watched Perfect Mom, that ugly voice in my head — the one I need to ignore — said to me, “Failure.”

It stung.

As I was pushing my shopping cart a little more forcefully than usual to its proper location, I heard a real voice — not the one in my head — call out my name, “Mrs. Farabee!”

It was her — Perfect Mom — calling out my name. She told me who she was, and then turned to her children and said, “This was my favorite teacher!”

It was one of the nicest introductions I could ever have received.

I confessed to her that I had seen her crossing the street with her children, had not recognized her, and wondered aloud, “How does she do it?”

Perfect Mom smiled and responded perfectly, “Your children were young when you were my teacher. How did you do it?”

I started to remember: School. Church. Baseball. Basketball. Football. Gymnastics. Dance. Homework. Grocery store trips. Taxi service. Well, not officially a taxi service, but it often felt like it.

Some days if everyone got dressed, had food, and brushed their teeth — that was enough.

Some days if our efforts to parent allowed us to see God breaking through to their hearts — it was way better than enough.

Hmm… now that I think about it, I guess I did do it.
Mother of the Year material — I think not.
My weaknesses made strong through Christ? Definitely so.
I did my best — and trusted God to do the rest.
There is no way to be a perfect mom — but a million ways to be a good one.

As I headed back to my car, Perfect Mom called out, “Thank you for everything. You’re the best!” I smiled and thought, “Not failure. Just the opposite. Success.”

Disclaimer: I still have no explanation for the night I took one of my children home after a basketball game and left the other behind. Hey — I said I wasn’t perfect.

But…this has been comforting to know: According to Luke 2:43, Mary and Joseph returned home from the festival, and did not even notice they had left Jesus behind.

By Ann Farabee

By Ann Farabee

May I just step back for a minute from my writer’s pen and share my heart? I have tried for the last three weeks to write a column about the impact of COVID-19 on our lives. I wanted to reach your hearts with my words during this unique time in history.

I had just spent another afternoon working on it. Working on it. Working on it.

Frustrated, I pushed my chair back from the table, and as I did, I saw a plaque that had been given to me a couple of years ago. But this time — I really saw it. The message spoke clearly to my heart.

The words:

Let us be silent that we may hear the whisper of God.

God was telling me to be silent — and listen. I closed my eyes and bowed my head, allowing my mind and thoughts to go silent. I heard a God whisper from Isaiah 55:8, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts.” That was followed by, “I can do more for you in a second than you can do for yourself in a lifetime.”

I looked up. I knew. I set aside the column I had been working on — and began to write this one — about the whisper of God.

I knew I could never formulate the words needed to express my appreciation for those of you on the frontlines during the virus. I see you stepping up. I see you accepting your mission with grace and mercy. I see that God is whispering encouragement to your hearts. You are heroes.

Nor can I formulate the words to express how my heart hurts for those of you who are suffering during these uncertain times. God will whisper sweet peace to you. And one day, as the clouds begin to lift, the sun — and the Son — will shine again.

Each week, as I write and video my column, I am not only thinking of my story, but I am also thinking of your story. May I never write a column without first hearing the whisper of God — because I write not just for me — but also for you.

In 1 Kings 19, Elijah looked for God in the wind, the earthquake, and the fire — but he heard God in the whisper.

How do we hear God whisper? Be silent. Listen.

The whisper is personal — not for all of us at once — but for each one of us.

The same God who created the universe can also whisper to each of our hearts.

It really is amazing.

God is at work.

Yesterday. Today. Forever.

By Ann Farabee

By Ann Farabee

Ah, nothing like going for a ride in our 1966 Rambler station wagon. Windows down. Our family of five was packed in the car, with the breeze blowing — or sometimes with zero breeze blowing. My younger brother had to sit in the middle of the back seat — with his feet on the hump, awaiting aggravation from his two sisters.

Daddy called it a joyride. We were on the road to nowhere. That road usually took us to the dairy bar. I can almost taste it: A big slice of pound cake covered with vanilla ice cream. Vanilla ice cream covered with hot fudge. Hot fudge covered with whipped cream and a cherry on top.

We ate it in the car.

No wonder I still eat ice cream daily.

Final stop on the way home — always the service station.

The attendant would be at the driver’s side window in a flash, “Fill ’er up?”

Every time.

My dad always wanted his tank to be filled up.

Did the tank need to be full?

I was not sure about that, but I did know that if you ran out of gas, the car would start sputtering and shaking, would be unable to function, and maybe have some damage.

This was all proven by me one day, as a young college student, trying to get back to campus without enough gas.

To be full means to hold as much as possible.

To be filled means that the amount of something occupies all the space in the container.

What does the Bible say about being filled?

Believe it. Receive it.

Luke 1:41 says, “Elisabeth heard the salutation of Mary, the baby leaped in her womb; and Elisabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit.”

Elisabeth believed — Mary’s child was the Messiah.

Elisabeth received — She was filled with the Holy Spirit.

Believe it. Receive it.

Psalm 81:10 says, ” Open your mouth wide and I will fill it with good things.”

We believe — We are to open our mouths wide.

We receive — God will fill it with good things.

Believe it. Receive it.

Romans 15:13 says, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him.”

We believe — Trust in him.

We receive — The God of hope will fill us with joy and peace.

Daddy, I guess you would never have gotten the fill up had you not pulled up to the gas pump, allowed your gas tank to be opened, and received it. Thanks for the lesson!

Fill ’er up!

I mean — fill it up!

Here’s my cup, Lord. Fill it up, Lord.

Lord, empty me — of me — so I can be filled — with You.

By Ann Farabee

By Ann Farabee